


Chef Carisi versus Baker Barba

by soul_writerr



Category: Law & Order: SVU
Genre: Alternate Universe - Different First Meeting, Baker!Rafael, Bakery, Banter, Chef!Sonny, Dessert & Sweets, Flirting, Food, Humor, M/M, Negotiations, Restaurants, Rivalry, Teasing
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-22
Updated: 2021-02-22
Packaged: 2021-03-12 15:03:02
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,081
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29636442
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/soul_writerr/pseuds/soul_writerr
Summary: Ever since the bakery across the street opened, Sonny's restaurant has been hit by a wave of customers who are not at all interested in sticking around for his dessert menu. Sonny thinks he has to do something about it, but ends up biting off more than he can chew when faced with the baker, Rafael Barba.
Relationships: Rafael Barba/Dominick "Sonny" Carisi Jr.
Comments: 18
Kudos: 56





	Chef Carisi versus Baker Barba

**Author's Note:**

> The other day I was thinking to myself: what if Sonny actually can't bake, but Rafael can? Then BAM I wanted to write Sonny and Rafael as rivals, a dynamic I had never really explored between the two of them. And I gotta tell you - this was SO much fun! 
> 
> I hope you enjoy it!

“No dessert for table 6, Chef,” Mike announced, loud and clear as he pushed the doors open and let them close behind him. “They asked for the check.” 

Sonny frowned, looking up from the dish he’d been garnishing. Kat appeared behind Mike with a tray a moment later, taking the plate once Sonny sprinkled one last dash of pepper. 

She was their newest server, hired the month before, but she’d found her rhythm in the restaurant and around Sonny so fast it’d even put Mike’s first couple of weeks to shame.

“Did you offer?,” Sonny asked, pulling up the next order. It was a Wednesday, far from their busiest night, but Sonny prided himself in his efficient and timely work.

“Of course I did. They said no, thank you, we’ll have a slice of pie from the bakery across the street.” 

“Mike!,” he pulled his hat off with a huff. “What the hell? Again?”

“What? Don’t shoot the messenger!”

“It’s the third time tonight.”

“And the hundredth time this week,” Mike mumbled.

The bakery had opened two months ago and slowly but surely Sonny’s clients stopped having dessert at the restaurant. Although Sonny had never been the greatest baker, it was all part of the restaurant  _ experience _ , and their three-course-meal Tuesday deal had taken a hit. 

His patrons no longer wanted their expertly curated entrée, main and dessert - they wanted the main, a drink, and some cake from across the street. 

Sonny had to do something about it. 

“That’s it. I’m going over there tomorrow before we open,” Sonny said. 

“Sonny, no. What the hell are you even going to say to the guy?”

“I’m not going to  _ talk  _ to him, Mike, I’m going to see what the fuss is all about.” 

“What good is that gonna do?”

“I don’t know,” Sonny threw his hands up. “Maybe it’ll inspire me!”

Mike crossed his arms over his chest, and the size of his biceps would be intimidating if Sonny didn’t know him to be such a sweet, caring guy who never even raised his voice at anyone. “And then what? You’ll steal his menu?” 

“Hey! I’d never do that. What do you take me for?”

“A crazy chef who wants to go across the street to spy on our competition!”

“He’s not  _ competition _ . It’s a bakery. We’re a four-star restaurant.” 

Mike wasn’t paying any attention to him, changing his apron into a cleaner one, then whipping down his tray before filling it with an order of drinks. He was quick, organizing the cans of soda and bottles of beer in a way that’d allow him to pick up the tray one-handed without it tipping.

“A four-star restaurant with lousy desserts,” he muttered, pulling glasses from a shelf.

“I heard that!,” Sonny shouted over the sudden sound of hissing and crackling oil. “I try my best, okay? You know I’ve been trying to hire a baker.” 

Mike chuckled, grabbing his tray in one smooth movement and lifting it. “Maybe hire the guy across the street.” 

“You’re full of great ideas, Mike,” Sonny said, but his best friend was already through the doors again. 

The bakery across the street wouldn’t break his business, but something had to be done. And Mike had a point - perhaps he could work a deal with the owner, something mutually beneficial. 

After all, Sonny’s patrons had become the baker’s clients by proxy. And while Sonny’s own desserts were nothing to write home about, his food sure kept people coming, except now they’d come then go across the street. 

He wanted to keep his clients in his restaurant, leisurely ordering another drink or a coffee and dessert - a good pastry or slice of pie, for once - as the conversation flowed around each table. If he saw one more family leaving hastily for the delicious cake from his neighbor, he  _ would  _ lose his mind.

* * *

The next day, Sonny made his decision. He didn’t even bother to open the restaurant, Mike would take care of it. He marched across the street and barged into the infamous bakery like a man on a mission. 

A bell shrieked above his head, hanging on for dear life after Sonny’s exaggerated entrance. The man at the front counter raised an eyebrow at him, looking very put-out. Sonny wasn’t sure what the man he’d seen open and close the shop looked like - he’d got glimpses of a dark head of hair here and there, a flash of broad shoulders, someone wearing a blazer, but he’d never seen the guy up close.

The man currently scowling at him had dark hair, but he looked taller than the guy he’d seen closing the shop. He had biceps that almost put Mike’s to shame, his shirt so tight across his chest Sonny could see his pecs, but while he knew Mike wouldn’t hurt a fly, he wasn’t so sure about this guy.

As Sonny stepped in, his frown melted into one Sonny remembered teaching his own staff. The face of _ polite accommodation _ . The blank, agreeable expression one made when dealing with an obnoxious client. 

Sonny’s face heated, and he looked down at his feet for a moment. Thankfully, the shop was empty if not for the one young lady sitting at the very end of the room, typing furiously into her laptop, a cup of coffee and a perfect-looking pastry forgotten beside her.

“Sorry about that,” he said sheepishly, offering a small smile as he approached the counter. The man’s name tag read Nick. “Are you the owner?”

“I’m the cashier,” Nick said. “How can I help?”

Sonny’s neck heated next, and it burned down his chest faster than he could try to pull himself together. “Uh,” he cleared his throat. 

Okay, so Sonny didn’t have a plan. He very well couldn’t walk into this shop and say  _ your cakes are too good, please stop selling them _ . And what kind of deal could a restaurant and a bakery make? He had no idea. 

“Cake,” Sonny half-shouted, half-hiccuped. 

Nick raised both eyebrows at him now. “Cake?”

“Uh. Yes! I heard you make fantastic cakes. What would you suggest I try?” 

“What do you like?” 

“Simple. Chocolate, vanilla, strawberry. Or banana bread. I like that, too,” he frowned. “Is banana bread cake?”

The look of polite accommodation returned. “I believe it’s bread, sir. Banana-flavored bread.”

Sonny swallowed, shifting awkwardly. “You’re probably right.”

“Would you like some coffee with your cake?,” Nick asked, writing something down on a notepad. He’d bet it said  _ ‘unhinged customer: chocolate cake? banana bread?’  _

He scanned the menu above Nick’s head. “A cappuccino, please.”

“Please, take a seat. I’ll bring it to you.” 

“Thanks.”

Sonny took the seat by the window, away from the intense typer, where he had an unobstructed view of his own restaurant. He could see shadows moving inside and smiled. Kat and Mike had arrived, and soon the lights would go on and another work day would start.

He was happy here, Sonny thought. It was a great place for a bakery, too; he had to recognize that. Sonny only hoped something good came out of this visit.

“Here you go,” Nick said, setting down a steaming mug and two plates. One had a generous slice of chocolate cake and the other one was banana bread. Sonny laughed lightly. “I hope you enjoy it.”

“This looks great. Thank you.”

Sonny had to try very hard not to moan out loud inside that bakery as he took the first bite of chocolate cake. He clamped a hand over his mouth, forcing himself to chew and swallow before he freed himself. 

His mouth watered as he loaded another bite onto the fork, then another and another. Sonny barely took a break to breathe. It was perfect - soft, rich and smooth, and the chocolate was so high quality it tasted  _ expensive _ . He took a forkful of ganache and licked it, then clamped a hand over his mouth again.

He understood now why people ran out of his restaurant for a slice of this cake. It made complete sense, and the fight melted out of Sonny as he took another bite. His food was good, he had no insecurities about that, but this cake was the perfect end for a night out.

Sonny was at a loss. He’d have to talk to Mike and Kat and Olivia, ask his dad for some business advice. And he’d need an entire cake to go, stat.

He got distracted from his delicious slice of cake by a man walking down the street towards him. A  _ gorgeous  _ man. He looked like a walking dream, broad-shouldered, a confident stride, a thick beard and a goddamn  _ smolder  _ that had Sonny humming into his cappuccino. 

Sonny sat up, fixing his posture and instinctively running a hand through his hair, counting down the seconds until the moment the man would have to walk by him and their eyes would meet. He’d smile, Sonny decided; that flirtatious smile that made his dimple show and catch anyone’s attention.

Except the man never walked by Sonny, because suddenly he swerved and walked into the bakery. Right  _ into  _ the bakery, as in past the cashier, past the tables, around the counter and into the backdoor. 

Sonny blinked owlishly, mouth dropping open. It couldn’t be.

But it was, and a moment later the man came walking right up to him with a welcoming smile.

“Hi. Nick said you were asking for me. I’m Rafael Barba, the baker,” he said, and goddamnit, his voice sounded so  _ nice _ . 

Sonny hadn’t prepared for this. He wasn’t prepared to look up at Rafael’s stunning green eyes and articulate some sort of partnership between his restaurant and this bakery.

He had not prepared for the smell of Rafael’s cologne; the apron wrapped around his hips. Sonny became powerless under his gaze, and what once felt like a building argument now turned into intrigue, interest. The only thing he could do was stare. And so he stared. 

Rafael cleared his throat after a couple beats of silence. “Can I help you, then?”

“Uh. Hi,” Sonny blinked. “Hello. Yes. Uh, hi, I’m Sonny Carisi, I own the restaurant across the street.” 

“Oh, really?,” he looked at Sonny with a mix of surprise and curiosity, and Sonny was about to catch on fire. “To what do I owe the pleasure?”

“I was hoping we could talk,” Sonny said, gesturing to the seat across from him. Rafael considered him for a moment, then pulled the chair out and sat down. 

“About what?”

“About how my restaurant hasn’t been selling any dessert since you opened.”

“I’m not sure there’s much to say about that. I’ve heard your selection isn’t the most impressive. No offense.”

Sonny didn’t take any offense to that, but his face flared up with heat again. “None taken. And I’ll be the first to admit that our dessert menu is lacking, but I don’t like to see my clients running out of my restaurant just to have some cake here.”

“And what do you suppose I can do about that?”

“I thought we could work out a deal,” Sonny said, trying to come off a lot more confident than he actually felt. “We both know a lot of your customers come from my restaurant, so why not work something out?”

Rafael didn’t look interested; he only looked like he thought humoring Sonny was  _ so  _ much fun. So the Chef squared up his shoulders and, somehow, found the words he needed.

“You have 5 tables here. I have 24, plus 6 more seats at the bar. If we worked out a deal, I could make sure all those seats got offered your desserts at the end of their meal.” 

“I thought you didn’t want your patrons fleeing.” 

“I don’t, which is why my suggestion is that instead of my clients coming here, your desserts go there.” 

Rafael shook his head, crossing his arms over his chest. Sonny’s eyes fell from Rafael’s greens to his bulging biceps. “Absolutely not. I have a shop with my own kitchen for a reason, I won’t work for you.”

“You wouldn’t be working for me. I’m asking you to take over my desserts menu. Here, in your own kitchen. I’d just pick it up.” 

The arrogant tilt of his head would be insolent if it weren’t warranted. “Mr. Carisi, I’m running a successful business here. I have no need to help you run yours.”

“Call me Sonny,” he said. “And I get that, you don’t need me at all. But if I were a random client coming in here asking for a cake for a birthday party, you’d sell one to me, wouldn’t you?”

“Yes, probably.”

“It’s the same thing, except it’d be more like two cakes, a pie and an assortment of pastries.”

Rafael sighed, rolling his neck back then squaring Sonny with a bored look. “You don’t understand. It’d take a lot of time and effort to produce that many desserts daily for your restaurant, Chef. I’m the only baker here, I’m not sure I can take that load. I’m also not sure I  _ want  _ to.”

Sonny leaned forward, closer. He had the losing hand in this;  _ he  _ was the one who needed help. Sonny had to convince Rafael that this endeavour would help him, too. 

The shop was pristine; the food was delicious. It was a shame it was still so underrated.

“I know I’m asking for a leap of faith here, but I’d pay you accordingly. Not just for the desserts, but for your time,” Sonny said, then gestured to the shop around them with a dimpled smile. “And you’d get your name out there, you know. My restaurant’s four-stars, we get reviewed all the time. Magazines, newspapers, blogs. We’d get your name and your bakery in there, too.”

Rafael narrowed his eyes then, scrutinizing him. Sonny could finally see a twinge of interest now, but the other man still had no reason to trust him. Truth be told, Sonny didn’t know him well enough to trust him either, but he wanted to.

“Tell you what. You don’t have to agree right now,” Sonny said, resting his elbows on the table and cocking his head, his eyelashes fluttering as he levelled Rafael with his best come-hither look. “Why don’t you come over tonight? Feel us out.”

The baker tilted his head and  _ smoldered _ . Sonny thought his own charm was good, with the long lashes, dimples and pout. But Rafael’s? It floored him. This man could ask Sonny to sign his restaurant over to him, and he’d say yes without even thinking about it. All because of that damned smirk and those green eyes.

“Okay,” Rafael said, sucking his bottom lip into his mouth and slowly driving Sonny to the edge of insanity. “I’ll come over and if I like what I see, we can continue this conversation.”

Sonny beamed. “Great. Sounds like a deal.”

“Not yet. But I’ll give you a chance to impress me,  _ Chef _ .”

He swallowed hard.

* * *

Sonny was thankful for how busy the restaurant got that night because otherwise he wouldn’t be able to stop thinking about the baker from across the street. Not only was he attractive to the point of Sonny feeling physical pain at the thought of his biceps, the veins on his forearms, his smirk, but his  _ attitude  _ had Sonny eating out of his hand.

He was confident and held himself with unwavering poise, his stride as powerful and meaningful as the look in his eyes. And the way he spoke - he knew who he was and what he needed from every single person who crossed his path, in the most no nonsense way possible.

Rafael Barba didn’t pass by anyone unnoticed, that much Sonny was sure. He commanded attention and relished it, unapologetic. 

Sonny wanted to give it to him. 

“Chef! You gotta see who’s on table 7.”

By the delighted look on Mike’s face, Sonny instantly knew. He spied through the round window, spotting Rafael and biting into his tongue at the sight of him. He wore a stunning navy suit and a lavender tie, reading the menu with more scrutiny than any other patron before. Sonny’s fingers curled tighter around the handle of the pan in his hand.

He let out a slow breath. “Thank God. Has he ordered yet?”

“Despite his intense perusal of our menu, no. He asked what  _ the chef  _ would recommend.”

Sonny saw that as a challenge and rose to it with the pride his Nonna had taught him. “I’ll make him my parmigiana.”

The parmigiana wasn’t on the regular menu. They only served it as a special on Fridays, because Sonny made every single one himself. The recipe had been one of the very few things his Nonna brought with her when she migrated to the US from Italy, and Sonny had never dared to share it with anyone else. 

“Damn,” Mike whistled, looking from Rafael to Sonny with a raised eyebrow. “Pulling out the big guns.”

“Shut up. Tell Olivia to offer him our best bottle of port. On the house.”

“Okay, okay. We’ll dazzle the shit out of this guy out there.”

“Tell him I’m glad he came.”

Mike left with a chuckle and nod, making his way to Olivia before stopping by Rafael’s table again. Sonny watched, transfixed, as the two exchanged a few words and Rafael set the menu aside with a nod of his head. 

As Mike stepped away, Olivia approached Rafael with a bottle of wine. She showed him the label and offered him a glass, which the man took and tasted before giving her an appreciative smile. 

Olivia left the bottle on the table, and Rafael looked in his direction then. Sonny’s traitorous heart jumped, then plummeted into his stomach, where it turned and fluttered uncomfortably. The angle was wrong and Sonny was positive Rafael couldn’t see him through the window, but the baker kept looking at the door as he sipped his wine. 

He must have known that Sonny was watching, and when Rafael tipped his glass at him and smirked, Sonny dropped the large frying pan he’d been holding. The clatter echoed around him, so loud the entire restaurant looked towards the kitchen. 

Rafael laughed and Sonny cursed under his breath, turning away from the door and going back to work. 

He had some dazzling to do.

* * *

“He said he wants to talk to you,” Mike announced, his smile betraying the grave tone of his voice. “Wants to pay his compliments to the chef.”

“Shit,” Sonny hissed, immediately signaling for his sous-chef to take over his station.

Sonny ran through the kitchen and into his office, where he found himself in his private bathroom. He washed the grease and the steam-sweat off his face, using his wet fingers to brush his hair back into place, fluffing out the strands that were mussed by his chef hat. 

He applied some lip-balm and pinched his cheeks, hoping a flush would make him look less pale under the bright lights in the restaurant. Lastly, Sonny stepped back into the kitchen and changed his stained, dirty apron into a clean, crisp one. Mike looked at him with an amused twinkle in his eyes and a fond shake of his head. 

“Go get him, Sonny,” Mike said, holding the door open for him.

Sonny’s legs had always been impossibly long, but as he cut the distance between the kitchen and Rafael’s table, his limbs felt alien to him. Their eyes met as he walked over, and Sonny’s shoe slipped an inch across the floor. Thankfully Rafael seemed somewhat distracted, his gaze travelling over his torso and waist. 

“How disappointing,” Rafael started once Sonny stopped in front of him. “I was expecting the patrons to give you a standing ovation as you walked out.”

Sonny smirked, ducking his head. “The food was that good, then?”

“I have to say, I’m surprised that someone who cooks so well can’t bake.”

Sonny chuckled, shaking his head at himself. He’d wondered about the same thing many times before, but while cooking made him feel at ease and relaxed, baking made him feel anxious.

“My mother says it’s because I’m too eager and can’t follow instructions. And I have to say she isn’t wrong. Something about having to follow such a precise order of actions stresses me out,” Sonny waved a hand. “Cooking allows a lot more free-styling.” 

Rafael nodded and gestured for Sonny to sit. As he pulled the chair out, Sonny noticed there was already an extra glass of wine on the table. Rafael served him, then picked up his own glass and tilted it in a mock toast.

“I guess I can understand that,” Rafael said. “I’ve never had a good rapport with disorder of any kind. The control baking provides is comforting to me.” 

“So you’re saying you can’t cook?” 

“If you consider undercooked pasta and store-bought sauce cooking, I definitely can.”

Sonny scoffed. “That’s offensive.”

Rafael let out a pleased laugh and the fluttering in Sonny’s stomach got worse, especially when the baker leaned over and smirked. 

“Two things first,” he said, tapping the table with two fingers. His hand was as veiny as his forearm. “You’re  _ buying  _ the desserts, and if you don’t sell, that’s your problem, I’m still getting paid in full. And secondly, all of your servers must tell your customers the desserts come from my bakery.” 

“Deal.”

“Not so fast,” he tapped his fingers again. “We’ll try this out for a month, but if in the end my sales so much as  _ wobble  _ we’re done.” 

Sonny huffed, shaking his head. “I’m not worried about that. I’m telling you right now, your sales are going up 50%.”

Rafael leaned back into the chair, taking his wine with him. He smoldered at Sonny over the rim, considering him, and the chef’s next breath shook. “I hope you’re right. But a fair warning. If there are any problems, you should know I’m also a lawyer.”

Sonny  _ grinned _ , big and bright, and Rafael narrowed his eyes at him. “Oh, really? Well, won’t you look at that? So am I. Fordham Law.”

Both of Rafael’s eyebrows went up. “Harvard Law.”

“Of course.” 

With a smirk, Rafael finished the last of his drink and pushed away from the table. “I should get going. Soon your patrons will start running out of here and into my bakery.”

Sonny stood up in a haste and offered Rafael a hand to shake. “But not for long, right?”

Rafael looked from Sonny’s hand to his eyes, and after a moment where the both of them stared at each other, he accepted it and shook it firmly with a tight, confident grip. 

“We’ll start on Tuesday. Come around tomorrow and we’ll discuss some options for the menu.”

“See you tomorrow, Rafael. Thank you.”

* * *

Sonny and Mike crossed the street in eager steps, each holding a takeaway bag. Mike, the taller of the two, reached the door first and walked through with a broad grin. 

Nick, as always, stood behind the cash register. He stopped scribbling in his notepad when the bell above the door rang and gave Mike a lopsided smile.

“Hi,” he greeted, and Mike walked up to him without hesitation, leaning over the counter to press a kiss on his cheek. 

“I brought lunch,” Mike said, depositing the bag on the counter with a flourish. 

Nick chuckled, fond. “I see that.” 

The two of them had met a week after the restaurant and the bakery started their partnership, when Mike went over before the lunch rush to pick up their daily order of desserts. They’d immediately hit it off, meeting after hours to watch boxing matches and spot each other during their own training. 

In the five years Sonny had known him, Mike’s laugh had never been so free. 

It was also around the time Mike met Nick that Sonny found out that Nick wasn’t  _ just _ the cashier like he’d said. He was Rafael’s business partner, an investor, and they had opened the bakery together. Rafael made most of the decisions since all the recipes were his and the baking fell on him, but Nick was the one with the business insights.

The conditions Rafael had proposed that first night at the restaurant had all come from Nick. That one morning when Sonny walked into their bakery with no plan, Nick had stood in his post behind the counter, listening to the entire conversation between Sonny and Rafael and writing a potential deal on his notepad. 

Sonny wondered how much of Nick’s presence that day had contributed to their resulting partnership. From what Mike had said - a lot.

“From a business point of view, Nick was totally on board from the beginning,” Mike had told him then. “But it meant a new load of work for Rafael, so they had to negotiate between them.”

And Sonny understood that, because thanks to the influx of orders from the restaurant, Rafael had to start his preparations an extra hour before opening the bakery every day. He needed the head-start before the morning rush passed through his shop. 

A month into this trial and Sonny was happy that the numbers looked good for the both of them. Rafael had earned it - and then some.

“Rafael’s in the office,” Nick said to Sonny now, looking knowingly at the takeaway bag he’d brought. 

“Right. Thanks.” 

Sonny made his way to the back office, a smile growing on his face when he spotted Rafael sitting behind his desk, his brow furrowed in concentration. He had a big notebook open in front of him, writing down numbers as he typed them into a calculator. Sonny recognized the motions well - he’d spent most of his morning doing the exact same thing in his own office.

There was a cup of coffee and a small plate in front of him, containing a half eaten croissant and an abandoned muffin. Sonny’s mouth watered. 

Without a word and barely breaking his flow, Rafael pushed the plate towards Sonny and went back to punching numbers into the calculator. Sonny set the bag on one of the chairs in front of Rafael and took a seat on the other, grabbing the muffin without preamble.

It was blueberry - Sonny’s favorite, and he savored it like it was the very best meal he’d have that day. Sonny had always favored chocolate over everything, but ever since he’d tried this, there was no going back. The vanilla Rafael used for the batter was definitely high quality, because it made Sonny’s taste buds sing and it filled his nostrils with a familiar, comforting smell before it even touched his lips.

By the time Rafael snapped the notebook shut and put it away, Sonny was licking crumbs off his fingers. Rafael chuckled at him, then made a grabby hand towards the bag Sonny had brought.

“Brought you some bolognese,” he said, handing the takeaway bag over. Rafael hummed his appreciation as he opened the container, steam rising and circling him. 

He took the fork that’d laid unused next to his plate and dove in, sighing contently after the first bite. Sonny smiled. 

“So, from my numbers, it’s looking pretty good for you,” he said, then gestured to the calculator. “What’s that say?”

Rafael said nothing for a moment. He kicked his feet up onto his desk, leaning back with the takeaway container still in hand. He twirled his fork and took another mouthful of pasta.

“It says my bakery is thriving,” he said, licking his lips and going for another forkful.

Sonny tutted, rolling his eyes at him. They’d known each other for a month, but he was used to Rafael’s evasiveness and dramatics. Over time, Sonny had become better at reading him and, right now, everything about Rafael said that he didn’t want to admit Sonny was right about the partnership being a guaranteed success.

“Come on, I said 50%. How much was it?” 

It was Rafael who rolled his eyes next, but he pulled the calculator closer and started typing in number after number until it spilled out a percentage that surprised them both - though Rafael was better at hiding that.

“63%,” he said.

“That’s what I’m talking about!,” Sonny clapped. “We should celebrate! Why don’t you come around the restaurant tonight? You choose whatever you want from the menu and I’ll teach you how to make it.”

Rafael looked from the calculator to Sonny, tilting his head. “That’s awfully trusting of you.”

“Well, you trusted I wouldn’t hijack your business, I trust you won’t reveal my secret recipes,” he shrugged, giving him a dimpled, lopsided grin. “It’s Monday, you know I don’t open today. It’ll be just the two of us and some good food.”

Rafael smirked. “A candlelit dinner with a handsome chef and exceptional food? Throw in a bottle of that nice port and I might agree.”

“I never said anything about candlelit, but that can be arranged,” Sonny leaned forward. “And I’ll consider offering that wine if you admit I was right.”

Rafael laughed, throwing his head back.  _ God _ , but this man was  _ gorgeous _ .

“Right about what, exactly?”

“About our deal. About your sales increasing.”

“My sales increase was a given,” he scoffed. “And I remember something about getting the bakery’s name out there, which hasn’t happened yet.”

“Seriously? My servers have a running joke about who’s really paying their salary because they’ve been saying  _ your  _ name more than mine,” Sonny argued. “And I know for certain that you’re getting more clients in the morning.  _ My  _ clients.”

Rafael groaned, setting the container down. “Fine. You win.”

Sonny beamed. “Come on then, say it. Tell me I was right.”

Rafael looked at him then, and Sonny’s tongue knotted itself. Something about the intensity of his gaze always hypnotized Sonny. The green twinkled under the weak light of the office, and not for the first time that month, there was interest, curiosity. 

“You were right,” Rafael said, voice low but strong. “We have a good partnership, Sonny, and you’ve more than delivered on your promises.”

He ducked his head, heating coming down his face and blooming. “It’s been great working with you. You know, as partners, no competition.”

Rafael threw him that smirk-smile of his. “It was never a competition,” he said. “But if it were, I’d win.”

Sonny sat up. “Are you kidding?,” he gaped. “Alright. You’re coming over tonight and I’ll show you a  _ win _ .”

“It’s a date.”

**Author's Note:**

> If you feel inclined to read more on this I have to say I agree lmao this is most likely going to turn into a series where the boys very much enjoy antagonzing each other because that's how they flirt lol so let me know what you think and what you'd like to see in potential sequels because I already have an idea or two oop!
> 
> Thanks for reading! And have you clicked the kudo button?? Asking for a friend 😘


End file.
